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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259367">Let the Water Carry</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skaldic_Jedi/pseuds/Skaldic_Jedi'>Skaldic_Jedi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bath Sex, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, My First Smut, Naked Male Clothed Female, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Sexy Times, teaching Dimitri how to relax</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 09:02:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skaldic_Jedi/pseuds/Skaldic_Jedi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been so long since Dimitri has been completely naked that stripping down to bare skin feels as much an act of war as anything he has done astride a horse, lance in hand. It is a declaration of intent: he will not live his life in fear, a shade of himself, forced to sleep in his armor, in case his enemies come calling with knives in the dark. </p><p>Here, he is vulnerable. </p><p>Here, he is a man again, free to avail himself of the quiet pleasure of a bath.</p><p>_____</p><p>Following the Battle of Fhirdiad, Byleth helps instruct Dimitri on the proper way to enjoy a bath.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd &amp; My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>212</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let the Water Carry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Dimitri asks that a tub be brought to his room, he pictures a humble wooden basin, the same type he'd used during his academy days. Nothing too fancy. He barely thinks about heating the water, intent only on taking off the festering layer of grime from his days on the road. Dirt has accumulated in places best unmentioned, and blood has bedded down so thoroughly into his nails that the other day Annette had mistaken their dark paint for deliberate fashion and asked him if he was interested in trying other colors.</p><p>The tub is a simple request, but Dimitri has forgotten that he is no longer a simple man. Not to the liberated people of Fhirdiad. To them, he is a prodigal king returned, the lion cub brought home fully maned, and rather than a barrel loaded with cold water, a mammoth ark is delivered to his chambers. He would have declined such extravagance, but the clawfoot is so large it requires four servants to carry, and when they set it down, it thuds with the finality of a closing portcullis. Sending it back would be an act of cruelty, and no way to begin his rule.</p><p>He waits as the servants bring in bucket after bucket of hot water, denied the opportunity to help. Instead, he paces in the background, out of the way of the caravan of servants, full of nervous energy and plagued by the prevailing belief that he is not worth half so much effort. Byleth has warned him against listening to that critical voice, even though it is the one that sounds most like himself. For her sake, he tries.</p><p>“Excuse me,” he objects when one of the servants reaches for his leather jerkin. It is instinct more than anything else that causes him to jerk away. He is not actually threatened by this wisened old woman who looks of an age to have seen him swaddled, but neither is he willing to allow her eyes on him now. Better that he establish some desire for privacy early on, or he suspects he will never experience another moment alone for as long as he reigns.</p><p>“Surely milord will need help undressing,” the servant says, eyes politely downcast.</p><p>“I can manage,” he says, adding in a gentler voice, “but thank you.”</p><p>It has been so long since Dimitri has been completely naked that stripping down to bare skin feels as much an act of war as anything he has done astride a horse, lance in hand. It is a declaration of intent: he will not live his life in fear, a shade of himself, forced to sleep in his armor, in case his enemies come calling with knives in the dark. Here, he is vulnerable. Here, he is a man again, free to avail himself of the quiet pleasure of a bath.</p><p>He tests the water with his foot, wincing at the painful heat, before easing the rest of his body in. His clenched muscles slowly begin to loosen, but he does not close his eyes or lay his head back. For whatever reason, he cannot quite let himself relax. Perhaps it is the anticipation of greeting his subjects at the upcoming feast, knowing they will be expecting him to be kingly, and not entirely convinced he still knows that act. Or perhaps it is a symptom of the darkening room, boxes of shadows spilling in from the beveled windows. He slips lower, watching the water pinken beneath his chin, and cannot tell if it is from dried blood, or merely a trick of twilight.</p><p><em> I may as well get this done. </em> Steam rises from his arms like a fine mist as he reaches for a hand cloth only to discover it’s just out of reach. Along with the soap. <em> Perfect. </em></p><p>Had the servants expected to wash him as well? Can royalty truly manage nothing themselves? It isn’t the servants he’s upset with, not truly, but the expectation of needing to be waited upon. It irritates him to be thought of as helpless, all the more because he doesn’t feel he deserves such care.</p><p>A knock sounds at the door to his bedroom. Most likely, that is the old woman now, come back to check on him. Seiros forbid he accidentally drown in such a small amount of water. He invites her in with a curt, “Enter,” and the hope that she will leave him to his business once she’s fetched the hand cloth.</p><p>He hears the door close, but it is the soft click of the lock that causes him to finally turn, suddenly alert.</p><p>It is no assassin.</p><p>But that is not the same as saying there is no danger.</p><p>“Professor,” he startles, looking one way then another, realizing there is nowhere to hide, no way of covering himself save for sinking lower into the tub. “Byleth,” he quickly corrects, remembering her dislike of that title. Whatever they are now, it is longer student and teacher, and has not been for many years.</p><p>“Your Highness,” she replies, teasing him with a sweeping bow. Her teal hair is gathered up and away from the elegant line of her neck, looking as she did all those times she’d come from training back in the day. A gentle smile plays at the corners of her lips. Once, Dimitri would have called her cold and humorless, but she has proven him wrong on multiple occasions. Especially during intimate moments like these, when they are alone together, relieved of their individual burdens to church and state. The war is not finished, and he worries how these positions will change them after it’s over. More sacrifices may yet be required of them both. “You look tense. I hope that’s not my doing.”</p><p>"Not at all. Although…" Dimitri clears his throat. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me in an impolite state." The heat from the bath snakes around his neck like a collar. Is he blushing? Goddess, he hopes not. “I wouldn’t want to offend.”</p><p>“I’m not offended. Do you want me to leave?”</p><p>The question catches him off guard. “No, of course not—I mean, that isn’t to say—” It’s difficult to think under her steady watchfulness, that even, calculating stare softened by something he cannot name. Desire, perhaps? He finds his body reacting with hope for the closeness they have both denied themselves while waiting for the right time and place. Not pressed between the thin walls of a dormitory room or in the middle of a battlefield encampment.</p><p>A king’s quarters, however, are a different story altogether.</p><p>“Far be it for me to tell you how to bathe,” Byleth says conversationally, coming to lean against the mantle, arms crossed, “but I think you’re doing it wrong.”</p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>“Indeed. You need ambience.” </p><p>She turns and without speaking lights the candles on the mantle above the fireplace. Despite being around magic for as long as he has, such spellwork still impresses him. Even more impressive is her control over the flames. He has witnessed this woman immolate whole armies as if they were made of wicker, yet here she manages such precision that the wax barely breaks a sweat. </p><p>Outside, the sun has slipped behind the horizon, no longer admitting daylight into the room, but each enflamed wick burns a small halo into the grey darkness. The edges of the room become blurry and indistinct, as in a dream. Byleth stands out against the shadows, beautiful and shapely inside the candlelight. Dimitri has half a mind to climb from the tub and take her into his arms, but he is under the impression that Byleth has something else in mind.</p><p>“Next,” she continues, careful to keep her gaze on his face, “bubbles. May I?”</p><p>She gestures to the array of bottles and soaps left behind by the servants, but he knows her well enough to understand what she is really asking.</p><p>“Please,” he says. It is as much permission as a plea.</p><p>Byleth takes her time selecting an appropriate scent, uncorking each bottle and passing it thoughtfully underneath her nose. Dimitri rests both arms on the rim of the tub, observing the process. He could spend a lifetime watching her. Every move she makes is considered, deliberate, as if life is a floor of glass, and she is doing her best to proceed without breaking anything. She is careful in every sense of the word. The only times he can recall her being otherwise is when she’s lying beneath him, his mouth on hers, their bodies answering each other before self-conscious reason interferes.</p><p>“When did you become such an expert?” Dimitri asks as Byleth comes and kneels beside the tub, dumping the contents of one of the bottles into the water. A heady jasmine aroma rises with the steam, sweetened by something else he thinks might be vanilla.</p><p>“It’s a little embarrassing, actually.” Byleth stirs the water with her hand until it starts to foam. Her long fingers make Dimitri swallow, his mind going to places it shouldn’t. He has never believed himself especially imaginative, but Byleth’s nearness gives him all sorts of unprincely notions. “You can imagine what it was like growing up with Jeralt. We lived on the road, washed in streams, rarely stayed in town for more than a few nights. There was always more work to be found elsewhere, always skulls that needed cracking and people willing to pay us good coin for the effort. I know now why he was so reluctant to put down roots, how he feared the Church finding us and Rhea stealing me back, but I was still a child. I had a child’s dreams.”</p><p>Dimitri traces a small wet circle onto her bare shoulder. He can’t help himself. “Like what?”</p><p>“I wanted my own room, my own bed. But I also became obsessed with baths. All that hot water. <em> Clean </em> water. The different soaps and washes. It sounded heavenly. I even started imagining exactly how I would take mine, if the opportunity ever presented itself. Like I said, embarrassing.” </p><p>She returns his touch after a moment, letting her hand drift from the water to his chest, and onto his shoulder. “Sit back,” she commands with a gentle push. He lays back as requested, trying not to disturb the fragile skin of soap over the surface of the water. The bubbles have done an admirable job of obscuring everything below and he doesn’t want to jeopardize that. Not unless Byleth desires otherwise.</p><p>“Relax,” she purrs into his ear. She’s standing behind him now, teasing out the tension in his shoulders. Her grip is unnaturally strong, incongruent to her lithe frame. He bites back a groan as she finds and works through a delicate knot.</p><p>“You do seem to know what you’re doing,” Dimitri allows.</p><p>He thinks he hears a smile in her voice as she answers, “I know you’re worried about the feast, but I want you to enjoy yourself tonight. Leave the worries of tomorrow for tomorrow. Be in the now,” she says, “here, with me.”</p><p>She ceases her ministrations on his shoulders, letting her hands glide down over his chest, slipping her thumbs tentatively over each of his nipples. The contact is both surprising and stimulating, jolting through him like an electrical spark, but he is quickly distracted by the path her fingers are tracing lower, over his ribbed abdomen and down toward the trail of fine blond hair. She presses a kiss to the scratchy underside of his jaw, at once tender and carnal, and this time he does make a sound, sighing softly.</p><p>Her arms are partway submerged, sleeved in suds. He can’t see what she’s doing but he certainly feels when she takes hold of him. His hands clench the sides of the tub instinctively as she explores his length in slow, curious strokes, one following the other. He hasn’t realized his eyelids have slipped closed until Byleth brings one wet finger up to his chin, tilting his head back to look at her. And he does look, his breath catching at the heat of her stare, the concentrated line of her mouth. There is no hint of shame or embarrassment, only devotion. “Does that feel good?” she asks him.</p><p>“Y-yes,” he stammers, all eloquence lost as her thumb flicks over the ridged spot near his point.</p><p>“And this?”</p><p>Stars swim across his vision as she carefully rolls the skin down around the head of his cock, careful not to stretch it too far, before sliding it back up. </p><p>“Yes. Goddess, <em>yes</em>.”</p><p>She rubs, squeezes, and massages with various intensity, all of this friction causing him to harden further and lift his hips, eager to press more of himself into her hands. Given such a practiced hand, he wonders, briefly, if Byleth has done this for other men, or if she’s just a natural at this as with all things, but just as quickly Dimitri decides it doesn’t matter. He must do as she says and be in the now, here with her as she is with him.</p><p>A few strands escape her hair tie, tickling his face as she leans down to collect another kiss. This one is hungrier, more intent. As she deepens their kiss, apparently unbothered by his fledgling facial hair, she abandons her teasing touch to grip him completely in a confident fist, still keeping her thumb on that erogenous button of flesh. Her tongue plunges in and out of his mouth mischievously, its movement matching the pumping of her hand as she begins to stroke him in earnest. He jerks, aching to meet her rhythm, hurting to help in some way. But she stills him with a well-placed hand on his hip.</p><p>“Maybe the bubbles were a mistake,” she says breathily, lips hovering above his own, “I wish I could see you right now. All of you.”</p><p>Those words along with the increasing tempo of her strokes undoes him. Her free hand slides down to cradle parts of him he has never paid proper attention to before, and not for trying does he fail to come up with a reply to her spoken wish. “Byleth,” is all he can manage, panting her name. Begging her for release. He is not sure which.</p><p>Dimitri cannot keep his eyes open now, half senseless from the increasing pressure between his legs, growing each second more lost in his own pleasure. He imagines Byleth hunched over him, nakedly hungry, her breasts pressing against him, her legs wrapped around his hips, crying out as he pushes into her body instead of just her hand. The vision is so clear, he starts to edge toward the limit of his gratification and hisses a breath, trying to rein himself in. That nameless fear is still there, the one warning him bad things will happen again if he loses control.</p><p>“Let go,” Byleth tells him, almost as if she’s read his mind. She tightens her grip to perfection, just as he would handle himself, and continues a little faster. “Let me have you.”</p><p>He thinks he knows what she means, and against his better instincts, he lets the tension go from his body, undoing that last remaining shackle holding him back. “You must know,” he says in a deep and shaky voice, nearly gasping from how good it feels to finally give in, confessing in both act and word, “I’m already yours. I’ve been yours from the moment I met you again. My beautiful ghost.”</p><p>She nips at his ear and as her hand strokes upward, he at last reaches that precious precipice, flung off into pure delight. He gives a throaty, animalistic cry, falling into the dark starlit space behind his eyes. Everything continues to throb afterward, and he wonders if she feels it, his pulse still hammering away beneath her touch.</p><p>He listens to the sound of the water gently sloshing as she pulls her arms back. His breath is still coming short and quick as his body puts itself back together.</p><p>“I’m not sure,” Dimitri finally breaks the silence, "what to say.” Should he thank her? Would that be strange? Surely he should say <em> something </em>. “That was wonderful.” He feels like an idiot, a lovestruck boy with a thick head and lead tongue.</p><p>Byleth smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”</p><p>He expects her to immediately dry off, but instead she reaches for a pitcher, arms still wet. It’s not his imagination—she’s wearing a small smile, looking as close to happy as he’s seen her in a long time. “We should get the rest of you cleaned up now,” she says. “Lean forward.”</p><p>The water in the pitcher has cooled, causing him to shiver as she pours its contents onto his head. She applies some kind of floral wash to his hair, and begins massaging it into his scalp. The light scrape of her nails feels almost as good as what just took place.</p><p>Afterward, once he’s out and mostly dry, dressed in a warm towel, Byleth invites him to sit and begins combing out his hair.</p><p>“It’s gotten so long,” she murmurs.</p><p>“Shall I call for the coiffeur?”</p><p>“No!” Byleth sounds surprisingly passionate. He’s heard her more calm in battle. “I like it long.” She passes two fingers along his jaw, where the beginnings of a rough beard have sprouted. He has not bothered to shave in the past week, obsessed with perfecting their strategy to retake Fhirdiad. “I could get used to this, too. It makes you look...”</p><p>“Scruffy?” he supplies.</p><p>“Dignified.”</p><p>He feels another blush coming on, and he’s grateful she can’t see his face. “Truly? You think so?”</p><p>“Saints, Dimitri,” she chuffs with a small laugh. She finishes with his hair and comes to kneel in front of him. “You give yourself so little credit. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” Her eyes are large and dark in the faint light, filled only with the shine of flames. “I wish you would come to love yourself even half as much as you deserve. But until then, I suppose I’ll just have to make up the difference.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he whispers, “for always believing in me. And… everything else.” Now he is certain he’s blushing, but Byleth nods, smiling softly. Her expression gives him the confidence to step out beyond normal propriety. “If I may be so bold, perhaps the next bath we could take together? I think I have a good sense of what you enjoy now.”</p><p>She crooks an eyebrow. “Is that right?”</p><p>“Well,” he says, covering her hands with his own, “if I do not, I should certainly like to learn.”</p><p>Byleth pretends to consider the offer, tapping her chin. “The tub is certainly large enough. And if his highness insists...”</p><p>“Please, not that again,” he laughs.</p><p>A knock at the door precedes a servant with the time. The feast is to begin one hour hence, and he must be dressed and presentable by then. He declines the offer for assistance, but when he turns back to the room and finds Byleth dangling his shirt from one hand with a smirk, he at last relents to some help. And prays she does not give him cause to be late.</p>
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